


When Fools Lead: An Inquisitor Trevelyan Story

by insaneprecious



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-08-22 14:13:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8288612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insaneprecious/pseuds/insaneprecious
Summary: The Rebellion between mages and templars was never meant to be peaceful. In the wake of Kirkwall, chaos ravaged throughout Thedas. Not long after the Kirkwall circle fell that Ostwick’s Circle collapsed beneath itself. The ever-present white, windowless tower now stands abandoned in the mouth the Waking Sea.If you're wondering why the Circle of Magi of Ostwick is important, it's because once it was a home, a familiar comfort, an escape from somewhere less pleasant. Or, as Iwan eloquently puts it, it was a prison he preferred than his home. 
After two failed escape attempts and one successful one before the complete collapse of the circle is where our story takes place. Iwan goes by many titles now, Lord Inquisitor for example, but before all the strange shit he was Iwan Trevelyan of Ostwick’s Circle of Magi, first mage born into the devout, Templar loyal Trevelyan family.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is an atrempt to capture the events from DA:I from my Inquisitor's point of view. I found some transcripts from cutscenes that I'll use, and I'm following major game plot points (I don't think you'll wanna read the inquisitor doing that annoying shopping list quest) and I'll do my best to capture the game correctly, and it's characters.
> 
> It's sorta a fun writing exercise. I hope you like it, I do. But of course I'm biased, I think Iwan is pretty great.
> 
> (Plus, who doesn't like dorian romances?)

The Rebellion between mages and templars was never meant to be peaceful. In the wake of Kirkwall, chaos ravaged throughout Thedas. Not long after the Kirkwall circle fell that Ostwick’s Circle collapsed beneath itself. The ever-present white, windowless tower now stands abandoned in the mouth the Waking Sea.If you're wondering why the Circle of Magi of Ostwick is important, it's because once it was a home, a familiar comfort, an escape from somewhere less pleasant. Or, as Iwan eloquently puts it, it was a prison he prefered than his home. 

After two failed escape attempts and one successful one before the complete collapse of the circle is where our story takes place. Iwan goes by many titles now, Lord Inquisitor for example, but before all the strange shit he was Iwan Trevelyan of Ostwick’s Circle of Magi, first mage born into the devout, Templar loyal Trevelyan family.

***

The crunch of boots against dried leaves caught Iwan’s attention, he could make out the heavy red uniforms of templars. They stood out amidst the grey-blue dusk that crept through the forest, the thin layer of early snow preventing any aspect of stealth they may have thought they had. He slide behind a tree, he could blend in much better than they, grey, blue and black masked him amidst the dark and bare brush. 

The Templars had been following him for the past three hours, or what he assumed. The sun was high in the sky when they caught him, screaming apostate and numerous slurs. He had run for what seemed like ages, only stopping when he thought he had lost them. The farmer he passed must’ve ratted him out for a few coppers, the blighter. The templars were getting closer, he could hear them better. They seemed about as impressed as he was about the whole cat-and-mouse scenario they had going on. He glanced deeper into the woods, he could make out a semi-frozen river not too far off and farther on the trees got thicker before falling into blackness. If he went too deep, he would never find his way out, or he’d freeze before dawn. 

Adjusting his grip on his staff, he peaked around the tree. His eyes widened, his face a few inches away from a young templar. Iwan towered over him, the boy might’ve been sixteen, he still had spots and looked just as surprised as Iwan was. The surprise on the boys face fell just as quickly as it appeared and in his rage appeared about ten years older. Iwan took a hesitant step back, the boy drew his sword.

“I found him! The apostate!”

Colour drained from Iwan’s face as he heard a mass of boots run towards him. They thundered against the emptiness, the trees croaked beneath the heavy steps. Iwan ran, taking off full-sprint towards the frozen river. An arrow whizzed past his head, he jumped slightly but didn’t stop. He could feel the boy on his heels, and as he slid and slipped through the brush he knew he wasn’t going to make it running. He turned abruptly, whipping his staff through the air and smashing the boy in the side of the skull. The boy collapsed, clutching his head and swearing. He wasn’t going to stay down. Iwan s thrust his staff into the ground forcing a purple skull to appear before him, laughing at the templars who gazed into it. The boy screamed in horror, another few took hesitant steps away.

He turned and continued his run, screams were thrown his way but most didn’t follow. He could feel someone behind him, catching up as the river got closer. He didn’t slow as he approached the river, he glanced behind. The templar chasing him was at the very a captain, his armour was much more spectacular than the boy who was so bent on capturing Iwan for himself. The templar made a lunge at Iwan, he managed to dodge but doing so he tripped over a fallen branch. He was thrown a few feet, crashing through the ice of the river and submerged. The templar jumped in after him, the water lapping against his knees, drenching his tunic. He grabbed Iwan by the collar of his coat and turning him over, placing a heavy boot on his chest to keep him prone.

“You’ve always been a handful.” Iwan could barely make out the voice, his ears rang his skull pounded. The water lapping across his face didn’t help either and made it hard to breathe. He kept his eyes on the helmeted man that glowered above him, his laboured breath reflecting his decreasing body temperature. The templar pulled his helmet off and threw it onto the bank of the river,

“You’re a fool,” Iwan’s brow furrowed, the man above him was his brother, Petyr. He hadn’t seen him in years. The years had treated Petyr well, a Captain of a Templars was a fine title. A grin crossed Iwan’s face, relaxing into the water, Petyr probably had a family by now. Playing the part of a perfect noble, a wife and kids, a perfectly arranged marriage to purify the bloodline and to make sure whoever he married didn’t have a history of magic. No, one couldn’t risk that again. 

Petyr hauled Iwan to his feet. The man was drenched, his heavy coat hung from his body, his trousers collected at the knees and everywhere he just dripped ice and water. With a firm grip on his shoulder and a guiding arm shoved between his shoulder blades Iwan was escorted out of the river. 

“One of you grab my helmet, and his bloody staff!” Petyr barked at the lingering group of boys who gawked at the soaked mage escorted before them. They stood frozen until a senior officer shoved one forward,

“You heard the Captain.”

Iwan shivered against a breeze, “Captain? Impressive title.”

“I’m due for a promotion.” Petyr shoved Iwan into a cart, “Benton, tie him up and gag him. Make sure he survives the trip, I don’t want the cold to kill him.”

“Yes, sir.” Benton was a lumbering, Ferelden man and did his work quickly. The entire trip Benton’s foot rested against Iwan’s face. It felt like a long trip and the ever-growing cold through his body made it feel longer. He passed out as darkness enveloped the templar convoy and as the cart stopped Benton gave him a swift kick to the ribs. Iwan groaned awake but didn’t move. 

“Captain, he’s frozen.” Benton pulled him out of the cart. He collapsed when they tried to have him stand. Iwan tried to get back up but only managed to make it to his knees. He had stopped shivering a while ago, his hair had froze to his head as were his clothes. Stiffened by the frigid night. Petyr stared at his brother, his blue lips, pale skin and absent gaze was pathetic. If he hadn’t of ran he wouldn’t been where he was now, nearing death in the middle of the night, frozen. Petyr sighed and picked up his brother, carrying him to his tent.

 

Iwan awoke on a low-lying camp bed, covering four heavy blankets. The tips of his fingers hurt and he was stiff, but he appreciated the warmth. The tent was comfortable with a pit of coals in the center keeping the space warm. Petyr sat at a desk across from him, back facing him, hunched over writing. As he sat up Petyr turned, his steady gaze studying him.

“You’re awake.”

“Sorry to disappoint.” Iwan shifted a bit, wrapping himself up in the blankets. He noticed his clothes were hung over the coal pit, his boots rested beside the bottom,

“How long was I gone?”

“About three days,” Petyr paused, flexing his fingers before continuing, “It’s… been a long time since I’ve seen you last, about three years. I wondered if I would come across you when the Mage Rebellion started, I didn’t think it would actually happen though.”

“I didn’t think you’d leave Ostwick.” Iwan said.

“I didn’t think you’d leave, either.”

A silence grew between them. Petyr turned back to his writing. The sound of laughter emitted from outside, a group of men, playing Wicked Grace Iwan guessed. It was late, and from the  pressure against the side of the tent it had snowed in the past three days. He sighed and laid back down. 

He wanted to laugh, the more he thought about his situation, a prisoner to his brother, it seemed fitting. They had never gotten along. Petyr had done his early part of his career as a templar in Ostwick’s circle and made sure Iwan toed the line. He was transferred six years ago to somewhere, Iwan forgot, the last time he had spoke to his brother at length, three years ago, he was forced to attend some family gathering with the nobility of Ostwick. The entire experience was miserable and he hadn’t attended one since, nor would he.

He must’ve dozed off because when he opened his eyes Petyr was standing over him, hands perched on his waist. He didn’t seem so important in a plain tunic tied with a simple belt. Iwan cocked an eyebrow, pushing his hair out of his face,

“Do you do this to your sweetheart?”

“Maker’s breath, no. Iwan, I have something I want to talk to you about. We’ll put aside differences for the moment. I want to chat.”


	2. Chapter 2

“This is as far as I'll take you.” Petyr reigned in his horse, sitting back slightly. Iwan didn't look at him, he took a few steps, sinking knee deep into the snow drifts. He could see the last stragglers of mages, templars and Grey Warden marching towards the conclave over the encampment. He leaned on his staff, his scarf wrapped around his head and neck, like a shawl.

The conversation they had was long, and avoided talk of family. Petyr had droned on about politics, rebellion, eloquently calling it the  _ Situation _ , almost to avoid the actual situation. The words flowed in and out inconsistently as Iwan’s hearing faded between ringing to surprising clarity.

“There's a meeting coming up.” Petyr had changed his tone to one of authoritative seriousness. Iwan had perked up at the swift change, although he said nothing.

“It's the Chantry’s attempt at consolidating the mage-templar _Situation,”_ Iwan grinned at Petyr, “Divine Justinia has called a Conclave at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, the Grey Wardens are attending as well. It's a poor attempt at peace.”

Iwan leaned back in his bed, gaze settling on his brother, “You don't think it'll work.”

“Do you?” Petyr almost laughed.

“I haven't heard about it until now.”

“Important figures on all sides are attending and I need you to do something.” Petyr grabbed a log and placed it in the pit, the embers lapping at the corners. 

“Because you weren't important enough to attend?” Iwan received a cold stare, he ignored it and ran a hand through his hair.

“Petyr, why would you need a mage to do your Templar dirty work?”

“I need a spy that won't be blatant. There's going to be dirty work, of course, corruption follows these things, and I can't trust my men to be properly subtle.”

Iwan raised an eyebrow, high praise for a man Petyr barely knew or tried to make an effort to know. Petyr noticed the skeptical look and turned his gaze away, pretending to go through papers on his desk. 

“Despite differences, you are family and I would rather trust family to this business than some drugged, indoctrinated, chantry boy who doesn't know the difference from a sabre and dagger, and dispelling from spells. I'd prefer someone who knows the difference.” 

The conversation had died off shortly Petyr’s comment. He left the tent and Iwan had fallen asleep, wrapped in warmth. He hadn't known what to think of the conversation at the time, and he still wasn't entirely sure why he agreed. He felt less sure of his decision as he stood on the precipice, looking off, knee deep in snow. A breeze pushed past the two of them.

“Is there anything specific I'm to be looking for?”

“You'll know when you see something.” Petyr looked off, turning his horse in preparation to leave.

“Then I'll return with whatever I deem important,”He chuckled, “Or dead. We'll see what happens.”

“The only person to kill you will be me. No one else will do the honours.” 

With that Petyr kicked his horse and galloped off. Iwan watched him, his dark figure disappearing as he crossed the tree line. Society, Iwan figured, had turned Petyr into a reader, no simple Chantry boy would claim that. Although Petyr was never a simple chantry boy, so maybe proclaiming grandiosity was just a part of him. Or he'd pray for Iwan’s safe return, which was unlikely and the poor Andrastian in Iwan suspected it wouldn't work anyway. Petyr was devout enough, he wondered why he hadn’t become a Seeker.

The snow thinned as he climbed down a slope. There was a worn path, revealing cobblestones beneath the icy-cover. The air was frigid and yet he felt foolish bundled up as if he was a Ferelden Chasind. The doors to the sanctuary were closed and a dull roar resonated from inside. There were no guards stationed outside, which he found surprising but could reason the lack due to the remoteness. The templars had a camp near by anyway, and from what he heard from idle talk so did the Chantry where there was word of Seekers.

He pushed the door open, greeted by warmth and the absence of anyone. He furrowed his brow. He had read Genitivi’s notes on the Temple of Sacred Ashes, and from his readings the Temple was large, but there were too many to have disappeared completely. He crossed the threshold, guiding the door shut quietly. He pulled his scarf from around his ears and started his calculated walk through the halls.

Voices grew louder as he continued deeper through the hall. The candles gave a warm light, and made the passageway sweltering, although Iwan stayed bundled. A scream echoed towards Iwan, followed by commotion. He ran, pushing through the door at the end and fell back, into darkness. The ringing returned in his ears, a coldness washed across his face and body. He wanted to reach out, clamour out from the river he tripped into. Petyr wasn't holding him down, but yet he found it hard to breathe. A hollow, emptiness grasped at his mind, unable to move he collapsed.

 

His head throbbed, eyes squinting against the painful green light that surrounded him. His body ached but he managed to stand, unable to think he turned, raising an arm to shield his eyes from the bright, white figure that lingered atop a stone stairwell that appeared to go on forever. Iwan furrowed his brow and took a few hesitant steps forward. He didn't feel like he was dreaming but yet he was in the Fade. The green fog and unsure atmosphere was familiar but not welcoming. He mounted the staircase and began his climb.

He wasn't sure how long he had been climbing, it began to blur into one but the noise from behind greeted him with change. He risked glancing back and felt his stomach sink as three giant spiders scuttled towards him. Without thinking his legs sprinted, missed their step on a stair, caught himself and ran. As he approached the top the figure reached for him and he took their hand.

Snow crunched beneath his boots as he was thrust out from the Fade. He failed to catch himself as he stumbled. Figures approached him as his body gave out, collapsing to his knees. He couldn't make out who the figures were, but the swords they had drawn suggested soldiers. He fell into the snow, face pressed against cold stone as his sight turned black and he could feel consciousness fail him.

 

The throbbing in his skull welcomed him back to consciousness, and the pain in his left arm told him he was in worse shape than he thought. He didn't want to open his eyes, they hurt. A part of him suspected that this was just the beginning, that there was going to more. Opening his eyes he was welcomed by swords drawn at his neck. He glanced down as his hands, tied and manacled.  _ What did I do?  _

He rolled his left hand, a green slit, as though he sliced his hand, graced his palm. A flare of green light from his hand startled him. The sight sickened him, his stomach sank. The pounding returned in his ears causing temporary deafness.

The door to the cramped cell was kicked open, or he suspected it was kicked open with the force it crashed against the adjoining wall. The guards sheathed their swords as two women, one of which Iwan noticed was a Seeker, with the penetrating eye staring from the breast of her tunic. The other, a red head, followed behind stopping a few paces before him. The Seeker circled behind as the guards filed out. Iwan swallowed and closed his eyes as she bent over and spoke, too close than what he deemed comfortable.

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now. The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead. Except for you.” He remained silent, staring at her. He wanted to laugh, of course this would happen. So this is why he's shackled.

She lunged at him, grabbing his left wrist and hauling him up, so that he was kneeling, his body raised uncomfortably off the floor. He met her gaze, boring into her eyes. She glowered down at him, scowling,

“Explain this!” She shook his arm as the slice in his hand flared green. He flinched against the burning pain that rushed down his arm, eyes shifting towards the light that he found unsettling.

“I… can’t.” He stammered, falling back as she let go of his wrist. She pulled her arm back, preparing a blow.

“You're lying!” She screamed, he turned his head away, resigning to his fate.

“We need him, Cassandra!” The redhead stepped in, preventing the blow. He didn't look at her, staring hard at his hands. 

“Whatever you think I did, I'm innocent!”

Cassandra scoffed and turned away, Leliana watched him, his hunched over figure, pale and exhausted. She stepped forward, but didn’t touch him but the slow movement caught his attention. He was attentive, she was impressed.

“Do you remember what happened? How this began?” He furrowed his brow, cocking his head towards her question. He wasn’t entirely sure what happened, it was a mass of blackness mixed with periods of lucid thoughts. Was his experience in the fade real? It felt like his Harrowing, so it must’ve been real, or as real as the fade could be. He sighed, shrugged slightly and nodded,

“I remember running. Things were chasing me. And then… a woman?”

“A woman?”

“She reached out to me, but then…” 

“Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I will take him to the rift.” Cassandra interrupted him and Leliana shared a look with the Seeker before turning and leaving the cell. Iwan glanced at Cassandra, unsure of whether he should fear for his life or be indignant. She was a powerful looking woman, the sword at her hip threatening. A dueling scar on his cheek suggested a hardened lifestyle and her serious black eyes were penetrating. He didn’t want to admit that he admired her, he never was fond of Seekers, but he found it hard not to find her a force to be reckoned with. He squeezed his eyes against the pain in his head and risked a question,

“What happened?”

She grabbed him by his forearms, pulling him to his feet and unlocking his shackles and took the rope that hung on the wall, tying his wrists together. She took a step back when she was done, and gestured for him to move,

“It will be easier to show you.”

 

Dusk had rolled in when Iwan stepped out into the open, shielding his eyes from the evening sunlight. Cassandra gestured to the sky and his gaze followed her hand. His eyes widened and mouth fell open, staring at the green tear in the sky. Grey clouds swirled around the massive hole, blending with the green light. The light grew darker the deeper one looked into the hole. He couldn’t take his eyes away from the tear, it was immense, revolting, and terrifying. He could feel his legs get weak but he managed to remain standing, “Maker's breath…”

“We call it the Breach. It’s a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour. It’s not the only such rift, just the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the conclave.” Cassandra didn’t look at him as she spoke, he swallowed managing to tear his gaze away.

“An explosion can do that?”

“This one did. Unless we act, the breach may grow until it swallows the world.”

Iwan screamed and collapsed, holding his marked hand in front of him. Tears welled in his eyes at the pain. He fell forward when the pain subsided. He couldn’t live like this, he didn’t want it, didn’t ask for it.

“Each time the Breach expands, your mark spreads… and it is killing you. It may be the key to stopping this but there isn’t much time.” She looked at him and frowned slightly, watching him clamour back to his feet.

“So I don’t really have a choice?”

“None of us has a choice.”


	3. Chapter 3

It was the hollow gazes that buried themselves deep within, that expressed anger but covered, in a thin, translucent and fragile veil, the fear and hopelessness of the tear in the sky. Hateful gazes were fervent and penetrating, seeing past the human guise they believed Iwan held on to and looking further into him as monster and apostate. With one glance they understood all they ever wanted to understand and all they would accept. They could convince themselves that he looked particularly threatening, looked particularly inhuman. Perhaps a demon in disguise, but wasn't that what all mages were. A creature that undoubtedly would become abomination. 

They could look upon him and claim that the scar on his cheek was quite larger, and disfigured his face, distorting his expression into vile parodies of what they should be. Perhaps his nose was too big, his eyes threatening, the solemn, hollow, exhausted features the sign that he was death reincarnated. Perhaps they would whisper maleficar. Only a blood mage could cause such damage. But of course a mage would destroy the Most-Holy. They were blasphemous creatures, abominations.

Iwan could feel the heated gazes as the Seeker led him past the angry mob. They were remarkably quiet, but given the chance he knew they would strike. He didn't look at them, didn't want to risk it. Cassandra scanned the crowd, her eyes meet briefly with each individual person. With each meeting of glances the people seemed to drop from anger and almost cry out, yearning to ask why the Maker had done such a thing. She had no answers to give them, so they kept the crying to themselves. Some turned away, other remained glowering. Iwan wanted to run, get away.

“They have decided your guilt. They need it. The people of Haven mourn our Most Holy, Divine Justinia, head of the Chantry. The Conclave was hers. It was a chance for peace between mages and templars. She brought their leaders together. Now, they are dead.” Cassandra said, glancing back at Iwan, to reassure herself that he was still following.

A pain buried itself in his throat, and he tried to swallow to choke it down, but nothing came of it. His eyes burned and he blinked them to ease the growing pain. The crowd was behind them now, and he realised he was within a town, although he wasn't sure where or what town it was. Haven perhaps? He wasn't far when Petyr caught him, and the Conclave wasn't far and Haven was built for the Temple of Sacred Ashes. He was startled out of his thoughts when Cassandra spoke up again.

“We lash out, like the sky. But we must think beyond ourselves, as she did. Until the breach is sealed.” 

They crossed a threshold of a heavy gate at the edge of town. Cassandra pulled out a dagger and grabbed his wrists, cutting the ropes she had wrapped. His hands dropped as the rope fell to his feet, he met her gaze.

“There will be a trial. I can promise no more.” She turned and nodded to the soldiers at the gate, “Come it’s not far.”

“Where are we going?”

“Your mark must be tested on something smaller than the Breach.” She sheathed her dagger, taking wide steps that appeared more as marches, with a speed that matched a hurrying soldier on parade. Iwan struggled to keep up.

The bridge they crossed was overwhelming. The groans of wounded soldiers overpowering, the smell of death suffocating. He watched a lone soldier, curled into a ball in a corner, rocking rhythmically and murmuring. The soldiers young face was milk-white, the eyes sunken in and hollowed. He looks like death, Iwan thought. 

It occurred to him that most of the soldiers who lay injured and lingered, white and wide-eyed were all fairly young. He would classify them all as boys: spotty and ignorant. It wasn’t just on this bridge, he remembered the young templars who he cracked in the head with his staff. The use of boys, didn’t settle well with him but he kept pace and chose to avoid eye contact. He could feel their empty stares. He didn’t need to see the victims of the blast to know he was doomed.

“Open the gate! We are headed into the valley!” Cassandra shouted, the soldiers at the next gate rose to attention and thrust the doors open. The path continuing left, up an icy, snow covered hill and around large masses of land Iwan assumed were mountains. Or to his untrained eye appeared to be mountains. Towering over the seemingly fragile frames of Cassandra and himself. Miniscule compared to the ever growing land.

A barricade greeted them as they crossed the threshold, and as they climbed a second they were met with a second. Two soldiers standing ready behind, swords drawn and prepared for what was to come. They sneered at Iwan, he almost expected to be spat at but was grateful that they held back. 

The sky from the their rising position on the hill appeared even more threatening. No longer hidden behind building and towering trees. From the hill the breach held no hostages, taking down all who gazed upon it’s terrifying form. Iwan couldn’t take his eyes away. The gentle swirling was mesmerizing, the bright shots from the center fascinating in the same way one watches one’s home burn with sad fascination. At how the beams corrode and fall away as they’re devoured by the fire that roared within and without. The breach did the same, eating at inches of the sky and devouring all that fell into it’s path only to vomit again, shooting flashes of light down to land. 

His gaze was torn violent, as though ripped from the lurking grasp of the sky. His head whipped around, almost painfully, as a soldier grabbed his shoulders, still in the motion of running. The soldiers face a mere few inches away from his own, he could feel his eyes widen at the look of sheer horror on the man’s face.

“Maker, it’s the end of the world!” He pulled Iwan a few paces down the hill with him before jerking away and bolting down the hill, catching up just barely with the other two who managed to pass him. Iwan gasped for the breath he didn’t know he was holding and looked back at Cassandra who had stopped walking, waiting for him to catch up. She gave him no answers, despite the obvious plea in his face.

He took a few steps, noting the shaking in his limbs, before managing to recover his quick pace and met with the seeker. She gave him an almost knowing glance up and down before continuing. Corpses littered the side of the road, a solitary mage was followed shortly after by two templars. There was one without a helmet, and he recognizes the red hair and young face of the boy who had chased him. The blood that streamed from the boy's face and the wound in his stomach suggested he had a quick death. Iwan stared at him, he felt sad. He wasn’t sure why.

“Did you know him?”

“N-...no. Not really.”

Cassandra nodded. They were nearing the top of the hill. Iwan only managed a few steps before collapsing, latching on his arm and screaming. The green split in his hand flared and he nearly cried. The pain throbbed through his body, from his hand. Everything burned, even his eyes. Although he wasn’t sure if that was welling tears or his hand. Cassandra grabbed his wrist and pulled him to his feet, although shaky he managed to stand.

“The pulses are coming faster now. The larger the Breach grows, the more rifts appear, the more demons we face.” She watched him as a physician watches his patient, with a calculated interest. He directed his attention back at the sky to avoid her calculating gaze.

“How  _ did _ I survive the blast?” He stretched his fingers out as the pain subsided, then made a quick fist to make sure it still worked.

There was hesitation in Cassandra’s voice at the question. She could only gather so much from her quiet, disoriented companion. She could gather who he was before the Breach. He was an apostate, his clothes could tell her that - ratty, long, overly bundled and falling apart. His fingers revealed sores, although she didn’t know from where, possibly the explosion but they looked a few days old. Definitely not new. He slouched slightly, carrying himself as an exhausted wanderer, but there were bitter parts of him. She could sense them. The way his eyes took in the world, his guarded expression. He was one of the rebel mages, perpetually angry, and not a believer of the chantry. He had every reason to destroy the Conclave and all inside, but a part of her doubted the possibility.

She opened his mouth slightly, looked out at the sky and turned, expecting him to follow.

“They said you… stepped out of a rift, then fell unconscious. They say a woman was in the rift behind you. No one knows who she was. Everything farther in the valley was laid waste, including the Temple of Sacred Ashes. I suppose you’ll see soon enough.”

They continued on, approaching a second bridge, passing more dead and burning rubble. Perhaps it was the end of the world. They turned up a path, and approached the bridge. It was smaller than the other they had crossed with a number of soldiers on the other side accompanied by a wagon. They had made it almost half way across until one of the sky’s blasts pummeled down through the stone structure, knocking the bridge out from under their feet. Iwan landed hard as did Cassandra, but she managed to raise herself much better than he could muster. He groaned and rolled over, a flash of green light burst before them as a Shade emerged. It’s curled in, armoured body lurching towards them from the emerald pool he was birthed.

Cassandra drew her sword, “Stay behind me!”

Iwan picked himself up. The groans of the dying filled his ears. Cassandra lunged forward at the shade, it shrieked and attempted to fight back. A second shade emerged from a lingering emerald pool, it’s head cocking slightly at Iwan. If it had a face Iwan could’ve sworn it had grinned. He jerked his head around, searching for something to arm himself with as the Shade approached, lurching itself towards him. He grabbed a staff, a simple one, from it’s place beside the rubble and readied himself.

The shade made it’s move swiping at him, he dodged, rolling out of it’s reach and swung his staff, slamming it into the ice he stood on. An explosion of fire emitted from the base of his staff and with a thrust of his arm the flames engulfed the shade. It’s body shrivelling under the heat. A grin broke out across his face, as the sound of the second shade collapsing reached his ears. He turned, only to be greeted with the tip of Cassandra's sword at his throat,

“Drop your weapon. Now.”

He tightened his grip around the leather of the staffs mid. His face dropped, eyes narrowing slightly,

“Do you really think I need a staff to be dangerous?”

Cassandra’s face darkened as she scoffed, “Is that supposed to reassure me?”

“I haven’t used magic on you yet.”

She sighed, “You’re right. You don’t need a staff, but you should have one.” She turned her back on him, sheathing her weapon.

“I should remember you did not attempt to run.” She paused, “My soldiers are at the Forward Camp. Or fighting. For now we’re alone. But it's not far.”

Iwan nodded and followed her lead, using his staff to help the walk up large embankments of snow. The sky was darkening as they travelled through the frozen land. They passed burning cottages that only appeared to make the sky darker with their smoke. They had encounters more demons during their trek. Minor ones. Wraiths and shades. They were dealt with quickly and effectively.

Crossing a frozen river they were met with a snow covered staircase, a solitary corpse lay at the bottom. Stepping around it, they started their climb. The bustling sound of people and fighting rained down from above them, a top the hill. A strong, cold wind carrying voices further down. They cut from the stairs into a path on the side of the hill,

“We’re getting close to the rift. You can hear the fighting.” Cassandra shouted at him, from above. He shielded his eyes from the snow that blew down from the piling drifts,

“Who’s fighting?”

“You’ll see soon. We must help them.”

They turned a corner and were greeted with more burning rubble and a bridge. The destruction was becoming banal. Cassandra gestured at Iwan before leaping off the stone wall on the side of the bridge and running to join the fighting group. Iwan followed suit, gasping at the small, but much closer tear in the sky.

The fight was a blur of movements and noise. Bolts fired around him. He felt as though he was stuck in the middle, unable to move and flailing at nothing. The chaos played about him, and he struggled to keep up. Unsure whether it was due to exhaustion or inexperience in this kind of fighting. Demons collapsed around him but Iwan was only sure it was over when an elf grabbed his wrist and pulled his marked hand up towards the tear,

“Quickly, before more come through!” The mark flared, and sent a stream of green light into the iridescent tear. Iwan’s stomach dropped and he nearly collapsed when the elf dropped his wrist and the tear closed. Black dots clouded his eyes and it was hard to breathe but he managed to keep standing. He choked out,

“What did you do?”

“ _ I _ did nothing, The credit is yours.” He looked at the bald elf dumbfounded. He had decided he needed to vomit but it didn’t look like he was going to get the time.

“I... did that?”

“Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand. I theorized the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach’s wake – and it seems I was correct.” The elf smiled slightly. Cassandra and a dwarf approached, overhearing the conversation.

“Meaning it could also close the Breach itself.”

“Possibly.” Solas nodded at her slightly before glancing back at the confused mage beside him, he stifled a chuckle, “It seems you hold the key to our salvation.”

Iwan nearly cried out when the dwarf approached closer, a grin gracing his unshaven face, “Good to know! Here I thought we’d be ass-deep in demons forever.” The dwarf took in the sick palar of the mage who towered him. The man looked as though he was about to collapse on the spot, he held out a hand in an effort to bring the man back to reality.

“Varric Tethras: rogue, storyteller, and occasionally unwelcome tagalong.” He winked at Cassandra as he shook Iwan’s limp hand. Cassandra scowled and shook her head. Iwan exhaled slowly an attempt to steady himself so he could continue with introductions.

“Iwan Trevelyan.” He noticed the crossbow on Varric’s back and went with the first thing that came to mind, “That’s… a nice crossbow.”

“Ah, isn’t she? Bianca and I have been through a lot together.” Varric spoke with admiration. Iwan could’ve sworn the man slept with it.

“Bianca?” Naming a weapon always appeared to him as ridiculous. His brother had named his sword. The last thing that came to Iwan’s mind was to name his staff. They never lasted anyway. There was no point.

“Of course. And she’ll be great company in the valley.”

“Absolutely not.” Cassandra nearly exploded. Varric raised an eyebrow, “Your help is appreciated, Varric, but…”

“Have you been in the valley lately, Seeker? Your soldiers aren’t in control anymore. You need me.” He cocked his head, taking mild satisfaction at her disgusted scowl. 

The elf touched Iwan’s shoulder and placed a hand on his own chest, “My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions. I’m pleased to see you still live.”

“He means, ‘I kept that mark from killing you while you slept.'” Varric interjected, watching the mages exhausted expression process all that was before him. Varric knew he wouldn’t remember their names within a day. Whatever was going through his head wasn’t focussed on them, and he looked as though he hadn’t slept in a year. The last place he needed to be was hauled through the valley, but given the situation he didn’t have much choice.

“Thank you.” Iwan gave Solas a tired but gracious smile, albeit a small one. Solas shook his head, 

“Thank me if we manage to close the Breach without killing you in the process.” He turned his attention to the Seeker, “Cassandra, you should know: the magic involved here is unlike any I have ever seen. Your prisoner is a mage, but I find it difficult to imagine any mage having such power.”

“Understood. We must get to the forward camp quickly.” She grabbed Iwan’s wrist jerking him forward as they crossed a barricade. Varric laughed, 

“Well, Bianca’s excited!”

They turned down a hill, Cassandra keeping an eye of the falling behind mage. Varric and solas kept him close, but he had slowed down since they had begun their trek. Solas pressed a hand against Iwan’s back, shoving him slightly to increase his pace,

“We must move quickly.”


End file.
